


Oh Crap.

by SleepingReader



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Gen, Hurt, Memory Loss, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: Life is great on the Stan O' War II, but when Stan's mind begins to get foggier and foggier, one can't help but wonder...Is Bill Cipher back?





	Oh Crap.

It had started with words. Objects. Words that didn't connect anymore.  
They were on the Stan O' War II, their boat. Stan was fixing something in the rigging while Ford stood below placing needed objects in a basket for Stan to hoist up and use.  
"Hand me the-- The thing."  
"What thing?"  
"Y'know, the thing, the one with the… Orange. Orange turn-thing."  
"The screwdriver?"  
"Yeah. The screwdriver."  
The screwdriver was sent up, leaving Stan wondering vaguely how on earth he could have forgotten the word. But he got on with his job, as always. 

"And then we went to get this really big thing.. The tentacly thing."  
"Octopus"  
"Right, and then I SMACKED it in the head, and Ford shot at it with his gun and then it went below the water, and we were okay, but THEN of course his MOTHER showed up and started beating the HECK out of the boat and.."  
Dipper and Mabel were watching the Skype screen with big eyes, listening to their Grunkle's sea story. They noticed that Stan would occasionaly forget a word, or get sidetracked. But Ford would always get him back to the story. 

Stan walked into the kitchen. He looked around.  
"Looking for something?" Ford asked from his seat at the small table.  
"Huh. Probably. Must-ve slipped my mind." Stan walked back again. He then returned, muttered something, grabbed a spoon from the kitchen drawer and went back to his computer, where he had been watching a show. 

Stan's eyes were hurting more these days. Damn cataracts. Sometimes it even felt like his eyes were slitted like a cat. But that was ridiculous, right? People didn't do that. Eyes didn't do that. They looked a bit yellow though. Slightly sickly. Wait, was that cursed ugly or normal ugly? Whatever. 

_Fire. Blue fire. Blue fire and that horrible, horrible laugh. The fire consuming the room Stan sat in, clutching the photograph of his niece and nephew into a last embrace. Then. Fog. Nothing. The sense of being hugged. "You're our hero, Stanley…" Who was that. Should he know that? And who was this little crying girl?_

Stan shot up in his cot, bumping his head on the low ceiling. Where was he? What the..? Oh no. Was he in the trunk of Rico's car? But why could he see? And who was snoring?  
Oh. Ford. Of course. Not in the car. In the Stan O' War. War O' Car. Car O' War.. Can Of Spar...Car… war… spar… har har har… He vaguely thought to himself as he laid back down. 

After some time, Ford began to notice these things creeping into Stan more and more. More bad dreams, more walking into places, muttering, and walking out again. And as Stan got more confused, Ford got more worried. He saw Stan rubbing at his eyes more, forgetting more and more words, and confusing stories sometimes. He would start telling a story to Mabel, then getting sidetracked and started talking to Ford. 

To Stan, it seemed like there was a slight hint of fog in his mind. Not cumbersome yet, but just enough to notice. Words were right there on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't make the connection between them and the thing right in front of him. Sometimes he would start out writing an e-mail, zone out a little, and then coming back to the finished e-mail. Some days he woke up and he wouldn't remember what everything was. Ford would silently slide him the scrapbook Mabel had made and Stan would pour over it until the world made sense again. 

One day, Stan looked into the mirror and decided that he was too old for this shit. Too old to deal with this alone. Over the past months the fog in his brain had thickened.  
"Hey, Sixer?"  
"Mmm?"  
"Can we talk?"  
"M-mmm."  
"About Cipher?"  
"mm.. What?"  
Finally Ford looked up from his notebook.  
"Stanley? What's wrong?"  
"How did it feel… -you know.. When Cipher possessed you?" Stan asked tentatively.  
Ford rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He never liked talking  
"Well, it felt… Like I was permanently tired. But also incredibly strong at times? Adrenalin, I suppose. But there were these empty spaces in my mind, where he had full control. I would wake up and see pages and pages of research and sometimes threats which were in my handwriting but which I didn't know about. Where I'd find myself in a room with no recollection of how I got there…" Ford finished, looking at Stan, who was looking at him like a man reading his horoscope and finding everything to be incredibly true.  
"Stanley?" Ford asked.  
"Oh crap." was the only thing Stan said.  
"No," Ford said. "You think…"  
"I might be"  
"You remember?"  
"Dreams and such…"  
"Oh crap."  
"You got that right. So.. What can we do? What can I do? 'Cause if I gotta punch that demon again, I will!" Stan said.

"Well, we need to make port, that's for sure. Before you fall into the water again or something."  
"Hasn't happened yet" Stan said, looking sideways at Ford.  
"…Actually, it did. Last week?"  
"Oh crap."  
"You got that right." We need to make port, as quickly as we can. I'll call Fiddleford, maybe he has a way of scanning your mind."  
"Ford?"  
"Yes?"  
"Let's... not tell the kids yet? Not before we know what it is?"  
"Very well."

A call to Fiddleford was made, and a course was set to Gravity Falls. Up in McGucket's mansion, Fiddleford McGucket himself had been working on an advanced brain scanner. It looked a bit like a hairdresser's blow-dryer, one of those big ones that go over your head. A month later, it was done. McGucket, Candy Chiu and Pacifica Northwest, who were both home from college, all tested it, and Fiddleford was convinced that the machine worked, since it printed out a list of McGucket's brain-loss symptoms over exact times and dates, a small chart of Candy's thought process in Korean, and, unsurprisingly, a slight mention of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in Pacifica. A bell ringing is not something that's easily forgotten. 

The bell rang through the McGucket Mansion. It was an unnecessary long tune, but Fiddleford rather liked it. He'd modified it with loud animal roars once, sending the mailman off in a hurry.  
Today, though, it was an applause track from an old show. Fiddleford liked applause as much as any other person. He followed the sound of clapping to the front door, and opened it to the faces of his friend Stanford and Ford's brother Stanley.  
"Well, come ye in!" McGucket said. "Make yeselves at home! Y'are just in time for lunch!"  
"Thank you, Fiddleford." Ford said, smilingly. He and Stan were seated in one of the dining areas, and were given a great lunch of their favourite sandwiches. As Ford munched on a Peanut Butter-Jelly-Sprinkles sandwich, Stan got to talking with McGucket.  
"So y'think that you can look into my brain and see if there's a certain demon in there?" Stan asked  
"I reckon my machine can, yeah!" Fiddleford answered. "I was thinkin' we could check after lunch? Then you'll be more relaxed. It won't hurt a fiddle, but it does feel mighty uncomfortable."  
"Fair enough" Stan said, digging in to his BLT. 

********

"Are you sure it won't hurt?" Stan eyed the machine warily.  
"Don't worry, Mr. Pines. It's safe. We both did it." Candy gestured to herself and Pacifica.  
Feeling slighly reassured, Stan sat back into the chair and forced himself to relax.  
"Ready?" he heard from McGucket, who stood in the corner fidgeting with the machine.  
"As ready as I'll ever be. Hit it."

It didn't hurt, like Fiddleford had said. But it felt weird, having a machine rummage through your brain. It was as if a police officer was rummaging through all your important files, sometimes reading one and going "aha…" 

After a while, the machine *ding*ed. A list came out of the back. Pacifica tore it off and gave it to Fiddleford, who took to reading the lines in the code. He hummed. He frowned. He frowned deeper. He read it again.  
"Well?" Ford asked, now impatient after a couple of minutes of humming and frowning. "Is he back? Is… Cipher. Is he back?"  
"Well, I reckon I can ease your mind on that one thing. I don't see any demons creepin' around your brother's brain."  
"But if Cipher is not back, what is it?" Ford asked. 

Fiddleford's reply came fast. As if he didn't want to say it. 

"Alzheimer's"

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm SO SORRY. This annoying story has been floating around my brain and making me sad. Now it's out in the world for you to be sad about. I never wanted to write it, but this was the only way to stop it making me sad.  
> Now I've written it, it's my job to fix it.  
> I hope I can.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Comments and Kudos help me write better, faster and stronger. They may also help me give a happy ending to this story. I don't want anyone to be sad.


End file.
